


This is. . . Nice

by Delirious21



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Maid Costume, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, roleplaying?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 14:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Ultra Magnus and Megatron; an unlikely couple, undoubtedly. One night, Megatron reveals he wants Magnus to wear something special, and things spiral out of control from there.





	This is. . . Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a shitfic for two of my favorite old mechs. Enjoy!

“Put it on.”

Ultra Magnus scoffed. “No.”

How he and Megatron, of all mechs, ended up together was a long story, confusing in every turn. But being asked to wear a dress and stockings fashioned for a massive bot was something entirely different. Ultra Magnus tried not to think about the energon buzzing through his lines, let alone Megatron’s searing gaze. Inspecting the dress —Megatron called it a maid outfit— Magnus ran his digits over the rise of the seams, the smooth creases of the bodice. He couldn’t deny that it might fit him. 

“My armor would tear the fabric,” he muttered. 

Megatron, leaning on the desk of Magnus’ suite, shrugged. “It might, but I want to see you in it.”

Magnus frowned. “So you can laugh at me?”

Megatron pushed away from the desk. “It has its purpose.” He carefully took the outfit from Magnus. “I have heard that doing this, roleplaying, can be sexually arousing. I am curious.”

“Excuse me?” They were tipsy, but Ultra Magnus wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough to be having that conversation. “Where did you hear that?”

“On the organic planet we visited the other cycle.”

Perhaps there was something pleasing about Megatron’s curiosity. Yes, it was disturbing in a sense. Their interfacing was vigorous as it was, did it really need an upgrade? At the same time, Ultra Magnus would do anything to make his partner happy, if not content. 

He sighed, staring at the thin, soft lace slipping over Megatron’s digits. “If I put this on, then what?”

Megatron’s lip-plates twitched. “There is an. . . acting aspect to it.” He tossed the dress back to Magnus and settled on the edge of the berth. “Let’s start with costumes.” 

 

Even though he trapped himself in the bathroom, Ultra Magnus’ faceplates burned as he struggled to slip into his “costume.” The mesh stockings kept getting stuck on the sharp ridges of his legs, and he couldn’t figure out whether or not to step into the dress itself. His digits were too big and the ribbon too silky; every time he tried to tie it around his neck, it slipped free. When Megatron opened the door, Magnus had one stocking half-way up his right leg, the dress was snagged on his hip, and he was struggling to pick the ribbon back up. 

Megatron’s laugh made Ultra Magnus freeze. Through everything, he had never heard his partner laugh so hard. The giant silver mech had to lean against the door as he roared with laughter. It was a precious moment, and for a second Magnus forgot what he was laughing at. 

Calming down, Megatron grabbed the ribbon off the floor and helped Magnus stand upright. His optics trailed the hot mess. “Are you aroused?”

Ultra Magnus opened his mouth to answer, but his ankle twisted when he tried to move, and he crashed into Megatron. By the time the two met the ground, stockings were twisted with servos, ribbons were even more undone than they were before, heated plating was grinding against silver thighs, and they were officially a mess. Two old mechs, so far beyond their prime it was ironic, searching for some semblance of normality in a maid costume. Megatron groaned, shifting his legs to try and find footing on the floor. Magnus groaned for a different reason. His plating was hot beyond belief, and Megatron’s thigh rubbing between his legs was too much. He tried to roll away, but the one stocking not on his leg snagged on the edge of Megatron’s hip. 

The sound of tearing fabric elicited a worse cringe from Magnus than when Rodimus tried to pull a “Whirl ate my paperwork.”

Resting on his thighs, Magnus dragged a servo down his face. “I am. . .”

Megatron propped himself up on his elbows, biting back a grin. “You  _ are  _ aroused.” He tested his thesis by canting his thigh against Magnus’ crotch. His chuckle was dry.

Ultra Magnus couldn’t help but slipping further down that gorgeous, toned leg. “I, I didn’t mean to. . .”

“Didn’t mean to  _ what _ ?” Megatron taunted. 

“Stop.” Magnus scoffed. “You should be pleased.”

Megatron lifted an arm, slipping a servo around the back of Magnus’ neck. He pulled him down into a kiss. Warm and slow, but Magnus could feel the shit-eating grin on Megatron’s mouth. It made his plating burn even worse, knowing that his partner was finding comedic relief in his struggles. When they parted, Megatron lifted his shoulder just enough to get leverage over Magnus and roll so that he ended up on top. 

Ultra Magnus’ panels opened, to his disdain. It was too much, the weight of Megatron pinning him down, those searing red optics locked onto him, the sound of their fans and their sparks thrumming wildly. It wasn’t the “maid costume.” It most certainly was not the smooth, silky scratch of organic, handmade fabric slipping down his hip and teasing his legs. 

Megatron snagged another kiss, parting to travel lower. His free servo slipped between Magnus’ legs. “This is nice,” he whispered, lips grazing a tense neck cable. 

Ultra Magnus quivered as a lone digit found its way inside of his valve. He bit his lip to contain a moan. “No, no it is not.” He dragged Megatron down for a sloppy kiss. “And I hate you.”

A second digit was hastily added. “If this is hatred,” Megatron rumbled. “I will hate you every cycle for the rest of your life.” 

Magnus’ breath hitched and he hooked his leg behind Megatron’s knee. When a third digit slipped through the mess between his legs, he arched his back, moaning. It was only when his spike grazed Megatron’s thigh that he started to think. Being buzzed on cheap highgrade was one thing, but the ache in his chassis was too intense to be from energon. Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure he’d ever felt it; the throb as his spark battled with its casing, desperate to get closer to Megatron. 

Ignoring, for once, the unrelenting floor beneath him, Ultra Magnus drew his servos up to cup Megatron’s face. Beneath his digits, he felt the ex-warlord freeze, jaw rippling with tension. Their optics met, and Magnus sank into the sense of security that flooded him. 

Megatron carefully removed his digits from Magnus, trailing his wet servo up the blue mech’s spike. “What are you doing?” he whispered. 

Magnus’ thumbs brushed Megatron’s scarred cheeks. Staring into those gorgeous, sincere optics was hypnotizing. Part of him, the habitual instinct that he worked so hard to suppress, screamed for a hard frag, but there was something new, some inkling of an intimacy that terrified Magnus.

It was like swallowing a bag of gears, but Ultra Magnus managed to whisper, “Nothing.” His servos fell to his sides. “It’s nothing.”

Megatron scowled, a stray servo caressing the fins of Magnus’ helm. “You have never looked at me like that.”

Ultra Magnus shivered, biting back a moan as his spark crackled with extra energy. “Do you. . . How do you feel?”

Optics lidded, Megatron grinned. “Good, I feel good.”

“Is your spark overheating?”

A distinct “snick” rang in Magnus’ audials, and he didn’t have time to realize that the sound was from Megatron unlocking his spark chamber. The weathered silver metal folded open to reveal a thrumming, lurching spark. It flared blue, slivers of green and purple writhing around the core. The heat radiating from it was overwhelming. Megatron dipped his helm just enough to graze it against Magnus’ chevron. 

“Ultra Magnus,” he rumbled. “I have not always understood my spark, but I know now what it wants. I know what I want.” His lips kissed the warm blue metal beneath him. “Will you indulge me?”

There was so much more to their relationship than the fragging. Ultra Magnus knew that, both by the desperation and need dripping from Megatron’s voice, and the way his everything ached for him. Ached in his spark, when Megatron fought with Whirl or disappeared for cycles at a time, locking himself in his room. He wanted to be next to him, always. So when his chassis unveiled his spark, Magnus just smiled up at Megatron. An honest, rare, unhindered smile.

“Megatron, I want to give you my spark. I want to devote myself to you. Please.”

In tandem, they crashed into each other, sparks melding, lips twisting, glossa searching intakes. Ultra Magnus’ servos clung to Megatron’s back, riding the onslaught of emotions and memories, sifting through the pain and the grief to the unabashed joy, the fire growing in their tanks. Everything was sound; their joined sparks, their fans kicking into overdrive, their bodies scraping against the floor, the memories, the energon in their veins, it was all one. There was no distinction between the mechs, not even when they overloaded, spilling themselves over one another, crying each others name, lips hungry for more. 

Through the haze, Ultra Magnus could have sworn he heard Megatron moan something odd, new, a string of words he never expected, through everything. 

“I love you.”


End file.
